Writings on the Wall
by Windra
Summary: A grim reaper from New York City tells the story of her life and unlife before she takes the final plunge. [Original Character. Prelude up.]


_A/N: Alright … this is my first Dead like Me fanfic. Actually, it's not really a fanfic. The story revolves around a character of mine I'm using in an RPG, though her present situation is kind of whack. Needless to say she was based off of the television series.  
So yeah. Enjoy! And sorry if I goofed on New York City geography – I haven't been there in a while._

Writings on the Wall

**PRELUDE**_  
-Windra-_

"_Tell me a story, Shosho?" _

I close my eyes against the voice. I want it to go away, leave me alone already, but hope at the same time for it to ignore my wish. To stay with me. Keep me company. It's a faint memory. A comfortable illusion. So close but so painfully distant.

That voice …

I haven't heard her in … god … years.

_ Elisa._

_ "Please, _Shadi_?"_

The clamor of traffic and honking of horns before me. Chaos on the sidewalk. A cabbie snarling obscenities at a fair who refused to tip him. A husband and wife to my left arguing over money troubles. Young couples to my right declaring their undying love. Dogs bark. Children scream. A hobo begs for change. Wheels go round and round.

Ambient New York City noises.

Funny. The modern day is swirling about me, threatening to drag me with it. Into the fast-paced world of today. But within, my mind just can't let go of the era of my birth. My home, my past, my life.

Or what _was_ my life.

_ "Which would you like to hear, _Yazhi_?"_

_ Elisa normally sleeps in peace, but for the time being she's been plagued by nightmares. The little child would always wake up in the middle of the night, pale and wide-eyed, shivering and on the verge of tears. She would go running to my room, and I would fight the tears with loving sisterly words. I'd soothe her fears with fairytales until she fell asleep, and then I would carry her back to her own bed, tuck her in, retreat to mine. _

She buries her face into my shoulder. I can barely hear her whisper, "Whichever. You always make good stories Shosho."

_ I turn my head a little so I can kiss her forehead. "Alright. Alright. Once upon a time … "_

And from there I would spin a wild tale that could only be matched by Shakespeare's mastery. Each time it was something different: legends of princesses and princes, anecdotes of thieves and knaves, plights of villains and demons. Each story captured the thrill of adventure, the taste of freedom, the desire for something we both desperately wanted but were forbidden to have.

The hopefulness and dreaming of a promising future.

But reality was cruel and condescending.

Now you may be wondering a lot of things. Why I'm the only one standing still underneath the lights of Times Square, eyes closed, one hand clasping a post-it note flickering in car-created breezes, the other holding down the lip of my baseball cap. Why the motion of the world doesn't encase me in its blur.

You may be wondering if I'm waiting for something. In that case, you'd be right. I'm waiting to do my job.

Heh, no, I'm not a businesswoman. Not a clerk waiting on a car pool. Not a secretary (god forbid) or any other thing that comes to mind. I don't work as anything you've ever heard of, believe me. Unless you count pick pocketing, but that's just what I do in my spare time. A thief of sorts, but I have to do it if I want to leave at least a little comfortably.

But I'm not just standing here like this because of that. My brain's kneading on the job coming up, but my mind's tackling other things. Like tonight … Tonight's the night I take the big step. Where I aim for a promotion I've never gotten, never even came close to achieving. Risk my soul for the simple chance to get a nirvana that's been avoiding me for a century and a half.

Tonight, the Lights will carry me home.

Even though my quota isn't up.

I guess it's just natural to look over my past, when I'm about to do something this tremendous. Only a few before me have done such an act – out of desperation, longing, the need to escape a system that chose our afterlife paths. That gave us a second chance none of us really wanted. Those that jumped … well … we haven't heard from them since. They've vanished from our sight. None of us know if they got to wherever they wanted to go.

The jump will be risky, but I can't wait any longer. I've tried, but it's damn near impossible.

I could very well just … disappear.

_ Wait wait, hold the phone_, you're probably saying. _Half a century? No way. Who are you? What are you doing? Waiting for? Talking about?_

_ What are you?_

Feh. It's a long story with twists and turns and jug-handles and pot holes and traffic jams. Don't forget the pile-ups and stop signs. Or the yields. Can't leave those out.

Elisa always said I was good at story telling … But if I tell you, promise you won't run away screaming? Though some of us laugh when that happens, it hurts, because we'll never really be accepted. After all … we might take your soul one day.

You're looking at me all strange now. Hehe. Don't worry, you'll see what I'm talking about.

So then …

_ … One upon a time …_

Oh! I never told you who I am?

My name's Ashowan.

And I'm a Grim Reaper.


End file.
